Chapter 25 Game Day
GAME DAY
I arrived regretfully overdressed for the game.
Wearing Randy’s shirt would’ve looked ridiculous, like a kitten in a sweatshirt, and then I’d gotten flustered in jeans and a t-shirt because I definitely did not feel hot enough.
With time running out, I’d hastily thrown on a date outfit.
A cute open-cut midnight blue dress that showed off my legs and made my ass sing, along with matching heels.
Now, I wished I was wearing anything else as I wobbled through the bustling crowd of hockey heads holding plastic beer cups to the box office.
The tickets were waiting like Randy had said they would be, and having left one behind for Hannah, I made my way up the stairs to find my seat and to get off my feet as soon as humanly possible.
It felt odd that I hadn’t spoken to Randy that day, but he’d already warned me that the players weren’t allowed any distractions on game day.
I’d wanted to know how he felt about the leaked photographs, the news coverage, if Georgia would be there, and, more selfishly, if he liked the dress I was in.
“Oh, you’re here!” I was greeted by a welcoming smile as I found my seat.
“Hi. Kensy, isn’t it?” I smiled back.
“That’s right! Nice dress, by the way. And this is Sarah and Maiden.”
“Of course, I remember. And who’s this?” I asked the boy, pointing at his plush turtle.
“Pascal! He’s five!”
“Well, hi there, Pascal,” I said to the ragged-looking soft toy.
“Is the seltzer girl not coming?” Kensy asked.
“Hannah? She’s running a little late, because of… Um… A doctor’s appointment.”
“Oh no! Is she okay?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing serious.” I had to stop myself smiling at the double meaning.
“And how’s it going with Randy? I mean, that whole thing today.”
“Well…”
Before I could answer, we were plunged into darkness as if all the power in the arena had been pulled.
The crowd murmured in hushed voices to each other in the dark, the anticipation bristling with excitement.
A siren screamed out from the rafters, and a spotlight flashed into life on the ice.
A few seconds later and the opening bars to “Hells Bells” came belting into the arena, and the Ice-Hawks came out through the tunnel to a swell of sound.
A wild cheer greeted every name read out by the announcer.
I found myself feeling exhilarated as I joined in with the whooping, thinking how therapeutic it was to be able to just stand up and shout and holler your lungs out.
There were some things about sports that gave so much more than you could ever get from watching on television.
Hockey in Merryville might have been a big deal. But tonight was one of the biggest. You could feel the tight tension in the air, a collective feeling that spread through the wave of supporters from the bad blood between the two teams.
Merryville had knocked the Wranglers out of the playoffs last year in game seven. Both teams had been trading insults since game one, and that final game had boiled over into a bench clearance following Hudson’s goal to put Merryville three up.
They might have won that night, but it left the Ice-Hawks without key members of their starting line-up for the next round through suspensions, and they duly went out in four games with barely a whimper.
Tonight wasn’t just about points. It was about making a point, and it was about revenge, for both of them.
Of course, Randy had been one of those involved. He’d been forced to sit out the next game for unsportsmanlike misconduct, and the loudest round of boos from the away supporters were reserved just for him as he came out onto the ice.
“What are they waving? Are those…”
I heard Kensy’s voice, but my eyes were only staring wide-eyed at the wiggling objects being held up by the supporters in the away stand. A sea of dildos were being gleefully waved at Randy, mocking him after the recent pictures that had come out.
As if that wasn’t enough, Kensy pointed out a figure up in one of the boxes, glamorously leaning over the glass.
“Georgia,” she told me, pulling a face.
“Oh, hell.”
“Who wears sunglasses inside, anyway?” Kensy said dismissively.
I knew she was being kind, as I’d already seen her do that very same thing at the practice session. But it really seemed like riling up Randy was a big focus of the night, and I worried how this might all play out for him.
When the game began, it was as if the teams were on a battlefield, the hits coming in hard, wild, and uncontrolled, each player chirping and unsettling their opposite number, the penalty box hardly vacant.
On the ice, it was two heavyweight boxers who were slugging it out in the final round, throwing everything they had at each other.
This wasn’t just about hockey, it was personal.
The crowd were on their feet, howling in outrage at every steal, every bodycheck, every loose pass. No one more than Kensy, though. When the Ice-Hawks goaltender was flattened in a scramble around the net, it seemed like she was ready to go down there to beat those responsible around the ears.
“You dare touch him again, Feder!” She howled, with the support of twenty thousand outraged Ice-Hawks fans with her.
Randy, for his part, was trying to keep his head down and his cool out on the ice, despite facing a sea of jeering dildos in a multitude of sizes and colors, and a wave of constant chirping from the opposition.
It was clear he was feeling the pressure and on the edge of keeping it together.
He wasn’t playing badly exactly, but no one had been able to settle into the game.
It was all blood and thunder, and the hockey was almost a sideshow.
The increasingly agitated crowd were silenced around the fourteen-minute mark, when Randy slipped on his own blue line.
Ray Easton picked up the loose puck and, at the second attempt, put it past Janek on the rebound to give the Wranglers the lead.
The away supporters burst into life, waving their dildos and dancing in exuberant delight, while Randy looked down at the ice, willing it to swallow him up.
“C’mon, Randy,” I muttered under my breath.
A few rows down, a familiar face shuffled along the row to take his seat. Frank Jackson saw me and gave a small and uncertain wave in recognition. I nodded my approval to him in return. So, he had come.
An uncertain feeling soured my stomach as I wondered if that was a good or bad thing. While he was down there on the ice, all we could do was watch. Me, Frank, Georgia. All there watching Randy, all with different hopes for how it would turn out.
The first period ended with Easton cross-checking Randy from behind, and an angry scuffle broke out, both players dropping their gloves and trading furious blows.
Hayden Raynor quickly came in to intervene, pinning Easton up against the boards, before Randy and Easton were given 5-minute penalties.
The dildos in the crowd once again wiggled wildly in their enthusiasm as Randy skated to the penalty box, then toward the tunnel when the buzzer came, trading angry words and gestures with Easton across the ice.
It was all breathless and nerve-wracking. As I tried to calm my nerves, finally someone I did want to see came bustling down the row, knocking every knee and spilling beer on them on her way, while bellowing “Sorry, sorry, excuse me!”.
“Hannah!” We embraced.
“Luce! What’s with all the screwnicorns?” She flashed a look at the stand of dildo-wielding Wranglers fans.
“You mean the pussy plungers?” Kensy said.
“Yeah, the eleventh finger mock cocks.”
I gave Hannah a look, and the answer dawned on her.
“Honestly, I thought I’d come to the wrong party for a moment,” she said.
The second period saw the Ice-Hawks finally get down to some hockey and start stretching the game, only for the pipes and Karlsson in the opposition net to deny them, time and time again.
Randy and Hayden cut frustrated figures at every lost chance, the minutes ticking away.
Then the arena held its collective breath as a breakaway for the Wranglers left the ice-Hawks exposed.
I could hardly watch as the net rippled to leave them two down.
Randy shattered his stick down on the ice, and I closed my eyes, wishing it would go differently. He took a rueful look up into our stand, where the players’ friends and family were. As the crowd quietly cursed or held their heads in their hands, Hannah stood up next to me.
“Go get ‘em, Randy!” She yelled.
Kensy stood too and joined in, “C’mon, Randy! Hayden! Dan! Hudson! Let’s go!”
A few people around us picked up on the energy and began to get to their feet to join in, yelling their encouragement.
Soon those few voices spread through the crowd, more and more rising to the call, the noise becoming deafening, until finally the whole arena was on its feet and the place was suddenly rocking.
The end of the second period came, and the applause seemed to shake off the walls. Even in defeat, they were our team, our heroes, and the battle wasn’t over yet. No one left at the interval, instead we remained on our feet together, cheering until our throats hurt with everything we had.
“This is even better than ladies’ night at the Bowl-o-rama,” Hannah told me, gleefully clapping along with the crowd.
The players came back out to thunder in the air, drowning out the announcer and the music spilling from the PA. The change on the ice was visible. The Wranglers looked rattled, while our team looked determined and ready for the fight.
Two minutes in and Hayden swept onto a pass from Randy and rifled a bullet into the top corner from just inside the blue line. There was a split second as we all inhaled, and then an explosion of release in the crowd.
As they pushed harder to tie the game, more chances kept coming for the Wranglers, but Janek was a wall in between the pipes. Even up in the stands, you could hear him roaring after each save, and Kensy roared with him.
The game didn’t let up in intensity, but the players were clearly feeling the tiredness, and small mistakes were creeping in. It would have been thrilling to watch if it hadn’t been so nerve-racking.
After a Wranglers attack broke down, Randy glided over the blue line, squaring the puck to the onrushing Solly Ricek, who smashed a slap shot at the goal.
Karlsson beat it away with his pads, but only back in the direction of Randy, who faked it once, then twice, then slipped the puck into the corner to tie the game with six minutes left to play.
I was on my feet, we all were, the swell of sound seeming like it would shake down the arena. Below us, I saw Frank, furiously waving his hands toward Randy in delight.
The momentum felt all one way now, Wranglers seeming a pace behind the Ice-Hawks to every puck. Easton made a cheap, missed bodycheck on Randy, but somehow still came out of it with the puck on his stick. Just as he threatened to drive forward, Randy stuck his stick into his skates.
“Randall Jackson… Two minutes… Tripping… Penalty timed at fifty-seven and forty-four seconds…”
There was a collective groan at the announcement. Randy shook his head angrily as he headed back into the box, Easton skating alongside him, telling him exactly what he thought.
Dan Janek was having the third period of his life, though. Even shorthanded, they couldn’t break down the wall he put up in the Ice Hawks’ goal. I looked at Randy sitting and watching, panting and frustrated in the penalty box, wishing he were out there.
As the last seconds ticked agonisingly by, Janek pushed away another shot, just at the same time as Randy burst out of the box.
The Wranglers had all pushed up over the blue line as they looked for a power play breakthrough, and Randy found himself completely open on the wing as he returned to the ice.
The crowd roared as they saw the opportunity.
Ricek quickly hustled for the puck and then played Randy through, sending him over the center line.
Two defencemen were hot on his heels, forcing Randy wide and closing the angle as he pulled back his stick to take the shot, and then there was a moment of confusion.
Our eyes all followed the shot where we expected the puck to be, desperate to see if it had rippled in the net, but there was nothing there except air.
Instead, Randy had let his stick rush over the rubber, his back skate then neatly playing the puck sideways, tricking us all, including Karlsson in the net. We looked back at the ice to see the puck drifting slowly across the face of the goal, with the unmarked Hudson rushing in.
There was a split second where the stadium collectively held our breath, and then there was only bedlam in the stands. Cups of beer flew into the air, raining down on us as we jumped and screamed at each other.
Back down on the ice, another scuffle broke out, delaying the restart. We all remained on our feet, needing only the assurance of the final buzzer to confirm it. Hayden won the face-off, and the last five seconds began to tick down.
“Ice Hawks WIN!” The announcer bellowed.
The jubilation on and off the ice was electric. My throat was sore, my bare feet were aching, my dress was soaked in beer, but my heart was pounding as Randy and the Ice-Hawks celebrated wildly below us.